


The Mirage

by Fandom_girl21



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adrenaline, Alice in Wonderland, Angst, Beauty - Freeform, Christianity, Crack, Curiosity, Dark, Dark twisted little thing, Death, Doctor Who References, Doctor Who Themes, Dreams, Drugs, Fantasy, Galaxies, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Gen, God - Freeform, Heaven, Hell, Hinduism, Imagination, Inception - Freeform, Islam, LSD, Momento, Observations, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paradise, Perversion, Philosophy, Purgatory, Rabbit Hole, Religion, Satire, Stars, Supernatural - Freeform, Taboo, Temptation, The Seven, Theories, Twisted, acid trip, black hole, doctor who - Freeform, falling, life - Freeform, sin - Freeform, the elder gods, the universe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:33:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4968232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandom_girl21/pseuds/Fandom_girl21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will our curiosity eventually lead to our downfall? Will we explore the universe so  thoroughly that one day all we have left to excite us is our imagination?</p><p>Is there a reason that we only use 10% of our brain? What happens when we unlock our mind, will we become God or will we be destroyed by all that we unleashed?</p><p>This is my attempt to answer these questions. It's a commentary on what might happen if all we ever do is seek out that next big hit of adrenalin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mirage

The world is a dark and desolate place. I am the last that remains of my kind, an epic race that once spanned galaxies and colonized to the very edges of the universe. We were a noble race, flawed — as all sentient beings are, but resilient in the face of chaos. We rescued those under tyranny, showed color to those who lived among the void. 

We had songs, poetry and art. We had a culture and an imagination, we had a thirst for adventure, it was in our blood. We were a curious species, having fallen for simply tasting a forbidden fruit, as the old myth goes.

Maybe it was our curiosity that led to our destruction? Maybe it was our need to understand that led to our corruption? 

The yearning to know, to touch, and experience that drove us to places of danger and recklessness. The feeling of fear and exhilaration that has become to be known as The Mirage. The feeling that we as a species sought our whole lives for, the people of old had many names for it, enlightenment, adrenaline, many ideas as to its creation from neurons to God's blessing.

But none of them was right, none of them could predict the end. For no one could have for sawn just how devastating The Mirage could be, how our quest for its attainment led to so much pain, to so much death.

We became obsessed, and our obsession led us down a dark and twisted path into the most dangerous place imaginable — our mind, into the dark secrets we held close to our souls, to the doorways of our own nightmares.

The pureness we sought, brought only madness and soon consumed us all; Till it became a drug, an addiction we couldn't break. It became a way of life, for how will a child know it's world is a prison if it never sees the walls?

How do you recognize the horror if you know nothing else? 

Soon our addiction tarnished our souls and fed on our mind, destroying everything that was unneeded, our desire for food, water, companionship.. For children.

Our addiction sustained us, it showed us paradise and purgatory every waking moment, all we had to do was turn our head, and our mind would show us something new. A new door to unlock, a new world to navigate.

Our madness soon became a sickness, infecting everyone not by touch, breath, but by the one gift we prided ourselves on — our imagination. 

In bled out of our minds, like a smoke it whispered into our souls, to seek, to find, to hold. To open doors we didn't even know we possessed.

It was beautiful and twisted and so **_sinful_**. So different we didn't understand, couldn't possibly comprehend the implications of just turning that knob, of reaching out and enveloping the smoke.

The images of our self created worlds began to mesh together, colors and sounds you never heard started to invade your dreams, ideas and thoughts you didn't recognize were spoken by a stranger's voice in the corner of your mind.

We became slaves to our imagination, but it was beautiful, it was oh so lovely. How could we bear to part with something so perfect? Why rise up against God? Tyranny is probably the most perfect thing ever concocted by us, after all to be cared for by one person, to let one person lead you to absolution, to that _feeling_. How could it be bad?

How could any of it be bad?  
How could something good be bad?  
How could the concept of sin exist in perfection?

It was the sickness that eventually led to our waste. We had become husks, pieces of organic matter for the beasts and the cosmos to feed on, recyclable particles of atoms containing the DNA of stardust and black holes.

We had become so immersed in our sickness that our senses of the physical had atrophied. All we needed, all we could ever want was inside of us. We could create our own story, our own ending. We could explore and traverse the one thing more interesting than space — each other's dreams and souls.

Why should we look outward when we could fabricate whatever we wanted within ourselves? Why sought after an old relic of divinity when we could become Gods within our own right? When we could become kings and queens, politicians, have wars or peace on a moment's whim?

Why save ourselves, when we could just change the story as easily as latching onto a new idea, or following a sudden tangent?

Our world has ended, our bodies are gone, we are nothing but consciousness, it's just our thoughts and dreams now. I am the only one that remembers, that knows, that has watched and observed. I am the only one that has archived our legacy.

I am nothing special to be given this curse, I am not a hero, nor am I a villain. I am not looking to change this — for there is no way to change something that is inside us all. How do you act when you are locked in a fantasy of your own creation? When your arms and legs are useless against something that has no form? How do you stay alert when your eyes don't know what to look for?

I was given this curse because of my curiosity, because I broke the seal that kept the mind under our control, that kept our feelings and cravings at bay. I am patient zero and soon when this sickness turns necrotizing and it devours me like a wave, I will be free... At least I think so.

But what will my freedom look like I wonder? Will I still dream? Will I see the heaven and paradise I've come to tend? Will I see color? Will I still yearn? Will I find that feeling? Will I ascend into the Godhood as The Mirage promised me I would? 

The secret it had sworn to in hush tones, in between shadows of dying stars and emerging galaxies? The forbidden fruit it had tantalized me with all that time ago. Does it remember what it showed me, all that knowledge and light and _freedom_. Oh that freedom, I had felt weightless as if I was vapor, knowing instinctively that I could spread myself far enough to permeate the very layers of air.

No, I know what my freedom will be. I think I have always known what it would be. When this drowns me, it will be colorless. I will be vapor again only this time I will have no feeling — I will be numb. Isolated without even my imagination to save me.

I will be there. I will just be. Two holes in the fabric of space doomed to just be.

For my curiosity, for all my drive what has it wrought me? What has my knowledge given me? immortality? But at the price of not my soul, no of something far more valuable, something I didn't even know was of value — my sentience, my imagination. Soon, the wave will crash down and I will just be.

I will be something so small that no instrument, no alien, no one will ever detect me. I will be woven into the very fabric of existence. Unable to move and speak, unable to hide in my dreams. Unable to do anything but just be. A particle to be acted on, to be used by...by...by God as he sees fit?

For who else controls the particles? For we cannot move ourselves, we cannot bind and react without being acted on. For I guess there must be a God, for who else should I ask for salvation? To be absolved of all the sins I have committed? Yet, I do not even know if there is salvation from The Mirage. But if there is, if it is at all possible, how will I know when I attain it? When my sentience is slowly slipping away, atom by atom, being given as payment to the very thing I might believe to be God.


End file.
